He was startled to hear a familiar voice. Her voice. “Fuck!” he grumbled under his breath. How could he handle this? How could he explain?

Anyone else! Anyone else would have been fine. No, it’d been her sitting next to him when he finally had the courage to turn on his barstool.

Her red hair was worn loose; soft waves cascaded down her back. She wore a white shirt wrapped around her waist and tied at the back. Her cleavage peeked out a little, just enough to make a man curious, but not enough to expose what she was hiding beneath her tight shirt. A black leather skirt at mid thigh and metal studded heels completed the ensemble.

Matthew’s face was hot all over again, his cheeks colored with his embarrassment. Especially when he recalled the way he’d tried to explain his presence.

“I needed a drink.”

“Oh, I understand that, believe me. I don’t drink when I play, though,” she said casually.

Matthew had wondered how the fuck she could be so casual. He’d wondered all night actually. He knew most people thought he was cold, efficient and detached, but he had nothing on her. She’d wrecked all of his carefully constructed control and she’d done it without losing any of her cool.

“I’m not here to play. I just needed a drink,” he said. His ears felt hot and he knew it would be spreading to his face and neck any minute. He wanted to leave, but she blocked his exit and stayed there, eyeing him with suspicion.

“And you just ended up here? Forgive me, Matthew, but that’s doubtful.” She arched a red brow.

“I’m…. I’m…,” he started to say.

“No need to be shy, Matthew. I mean, I’m here too, right? The only real question is: Who are you looking for?”

Matthew’s hips rolled and he felt the burn of his muscles protesting against the action. He’d be surprised if he could sit today.

“I’m not looking for anyone. I just –”

“Lying? Really? Of all the things I thought you might be, a liar didn’t really cross my mind,” she said.

“Fuck what you thought,” he countered and slammed his whiskey neat. He stood to leave, but Sloan blocked his path, trapping him between her body and the stool. She smelled sweet, like green apples. It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing one expected. Not in a fetish club.

Knowing it would hurt, he braced himself and reached back to touch his ass with his fingers. Yes: there were raised welts all over his butt. He traced them with the tip of his finger, marveling at the fact there was a perfect handprint where her slender, whip-like fingers had landed. He’d always wondered if the brilliant Dr. Janice Sloan would psycho analyze during sex. Now he knew the answer.

“That’s rude, Matthew. You’re trying to hurt my feelings. But I forgive you because I know you’re embarrassed.” She stepped closer, a hand on his chest urging him back onto his seat. Her hand felt hot, really hot, like it could burn a hole in his chest. Matthew relented and allowed himself to be pushed back onto the barstool.

Sloan rose up on her tip-toes and leaned over Matthew to whisper in his ear, “You’re cheeks are red and your heart is beating really fast.”

Matthew moaned and rubbed his ass cheek again. Yes, he’d been embarrassed. He’d never expected to see Sloan, dressed like a cross between the Madonna and the whore, smelling like apples and at the same time rubbing her tits against his chest. She’d known what she was doing, that much was even more obvious now.

“Look, Sloan…”

“Leave Sloan for the office, Matthew,” she said with a smile.

“Fine. What the hell do you want, Janice? You want to tell everyone you saw me here? That I’m a freak? Go ahead. I don’t give a fuck,” he said. He whispered the words, half angry, half nervous. He didn’t know what he’d do if she decided to tell people about him.

He was still worried about that. The things he’d let her do! The way he’d begged her not to stop. He shook his head, trying to clear the memories, but it wasn’t working, not when he was still so sore and her smell still lingered in his sheets.

“You’re not a Dom.” Janice shook her head, “I didn’t think so. I mean, you could be, you’re so strong, so masculine and in control. But that’s the problem. Isn’t it, Matthew? It’s a lot of work to be in control all the time.” She raised her delicate hand and twirled her fingers in the hair at Matthew’s nape. It was an intimate act, full of implications.

Ah, yes. The fucking psycho-babble. Olivia had had it right: Sloan couldn’t help herself. She looked right into people and started tearing them apart. No matter that it hurt. No matter that she wasn’t invited to do it. All night, she’d done it to him, poked and poked and poked until he’d given it up.

Janice’s other hand grabbed Matthew’s thigh and gently prodded. Matthew swallowed hesitantly, but then he let Janice in and she stepped between his spread thighs as if she just belonged there. “I wouldn’t tell anyone your secrets, Matthew. I keep a lot of secrets; it’s my job. If you tell me to leave you alone, I will. It’s just…I want you.”

“Why?” Matthew croaked.

Janice smiled against his ear and chuckled softly, “Because I couldn’t possibly think of anything I’d enjoy more, than your sexy ass over my knee.”

It was definitely sexy. Matthew had never come so hard, never begged so much. He’d tried to be defiant, not caring for Sloan’s invasive questions. But in the end, he wanted to come so badly, he’d have done anything, said anything. Sloan made sure to take advantage. She’d pulled confessions out of him that made him so ashamed he could barely breathe. She’d been ruthless.

Her hand followed along the path of his thigh and turned inward to cup his balls. Matthew jumped, startled, but his hands stayed gripped to the barstool. Janice’s fingernails scratched him through his jeans and he couldn’t suppress the helpless sound that came out of him.

He couldn’t face her, not today, not ever. She knew him too well now. He’d told her things he’d never told anyone.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay?” she purred against his ear, her fingers alternately caressing and scratching.

She’d been so reassuring, stroking his hair and telling him it was okay, there was nothing wrong with him.

Matthew nodded, his eyes closed. Already, it was difficult not to come, right there in his jeans like a school kid having his dick touched by the head cheerleader.

“You won’t tell?” he pleaded softly.

Janice gripped the hair at the nape of his neck with enough force to make his eyes sting, “No, Matthew. I won’t tell anyone. Now get the fuck off this barstool and let’s get out of here.”

Last night it had been glorious and liberating. It had been a light to the darkness in his soul, but today…today it was all he could do not to call in sick and lie in bed and hide.

Matthew finally rolled over and let the pain have him. He closed his eyes and moved his body along the sheets, testing all of his muscles. His shoulders hurt quite a bit and his neck was stiff, but mostly it was his ass. His ass felt bruised all the way to the bone and he knew even after his hot shower the pain would remain. He’d think about Sloan all day, all night, and every time he sat down until the pain went away. And suddenly, it was his pride that hurt the most.