The kiss he gave her this time conveyed all that and more. They’d both just climaxed, but the act felt like a starting gate. He wanted to do more, give her more, see her come a million different ways. He wanted to give her every sensual torment, take her head way past this world and into one where she didn’t have to worry about anything, except the next thing he’d demand of her to give her a universe-shattering orgasm.

  “What do you think?” he asked huskily. “Would I be cruel, to make you wear ropes under your clothes?”

  She shook her head, then remembered. “No sir. No…I’d like that. I mean—”

  Before she could backtrack, startled by the second time tonight she’d slipped, he captured her mouth again. As Dr. Taylor had said, there were a lot of things that went into a healing potion.

  He could add his own unique ingredients to it.

  When he finally removed the ropes, he rubbed the lightly chafed area of her wrists. As he did that, they were sitting up again, his back once more against the wheel of his chair. She put her forehead on his shoulder, sank back fully against him. He slid his arm around her, his brow creasing at the impulsive movement, even as it pleased him, her looking for that contact.

  More aftercare. That was what she needed, so he took his time, holding her, gazing at the water and night sky. They shared more of the bottled water, watched the distant party-goers, highlighted by the strung lights, the flutter of torch flame, and the graceful lines of the plantation house behind them. The way the pool house was lit up made it look like a wedding cake.

  As he’d removed the ropes, he’d noted a look on her face that told him she missed their hold. He’d get on that harness idea soon. In the meantime, her reaction gave him an idea for the next place he wanted to check out. So when he thought she was ready, he suggested they rejoin the party around the pavilion tent, check the booths behind it. On their earlier circuit, they’d discovered a small handful of craftspeople were set up back there, offering goods related to the evening’s events.

  She was amenable to the idea. After he lifted himself back into the chair and she straightened and smoothed her clothing, they made their way back to the walkway and toward the populated area of the grounds again. On the way, Rory dropped the neatly re-coiled rope on the dais next to the curtained area where Des had retrieved it. Rory had no doubt it was part of the rope artist’s personal stash. He couldn’t see Des trusting his sub to any rope he hadn’t chosen and conditioned himself.

  The craftspeople selectively chosen for this event offered leather goods, jewelry, clothing and BDSM toys. There was also a corset seller. It was to that booth that Rory took Daralyn.

  The corsetier was a middle-aged stout woman who, in her corset and white ruffled blouse with a gathered skirt, looked like a tavern maid in a Robin Hood film. She had sky blue eyes and a blunt-edged crop of short hair the color of maple syrup.

  “I’m Callie, and you’ll look amazing in a corset,” she told Daralyn. “As for these,” she cupped her own ample breasts, “It doesn’t matter how small they are. In a corset, your Master’s gaze won’t be able to leave them.”

  When Daralyn sent Rory a glance, he responded with a grin. “I love yours. I’m open to any new way to show them off.” He nodded to a light gray corset with pale green flowers on it. He thought it would be a good match for her hazel eyes. “Try that one.”

  “Do you want it over her dress, or would you like to see how it looks on under it?” Callie asked.

  “Under it,” Rory decided.

  The vendor nodded. “Out here, or behind the changing curtain? There’s room behind it if you want to join us.”

  He was on board with that. “Behind the curtain. I’ll follow you.”

  “Very good, sir.” Callie proceeded them, holding open the curtain for Daralyn. The vendor booths had temporary event flooring, just like the pavilion tent, so his chair rolled easily. He parked himself in a corner where he had a good view, but the two women had room to maneuver.

  “This dress is so lovely,” Callie said. “May I help her remove it?”

  Daralyn’s gaze had remained upon him. Holding her attention, Rory nodded. As the woman moved behind Daralyn and untied the sash, then slid the zipper down, he saw a light shiver course through his sub. When the corsetier pushed the dress off her shoulders, Rory managed, barely, to bite back a groan. He’d already known she wasn’t wearing her usual underwear, but now he saw it in its full glory. A matching wine-colored set, the panties and bra were all sheer lace and satin. Which worked fucking fabulously with the shimmering thigh highs, the lace tops a dove gray color.

  Bless Julie and Les. Not that he’d ever tell his sister she’d picked out some seriously cock-stirring underwear for the woman who’d captured his heart.

  “May I remove the bra?” Callie asked. Again, Daralyn looked to him, and Rory gestured his assent to the woman.

  As the cups slipped away, Daralyn stood before him in only the panties, thigh-highs and the low heels. Damn.

  Daralyn lowered her lashes, as if seeing what was in his eyes was too powerful for her to hold his gaze. That only increased the possessive feeling inside his chest, the hard thump of his heart. The corsetier knew her business, because she remained quiet, recognizing what was happening between her client and his sub was a private matter, desiring as little outside intrusion on the experience as possible.

  She fitted the corset around Daralyn, hooking it in front and moving to the back to begin the tightening process. She reached forward once to adjust the garment, ensure it was placed properly beneath her breasts. Rory noted Daralyn had no tension about being touched by a woman. Even though her gaze remained lowered, he sensed her attention hadn’t shifted from him even once.

  “Don’t lock your knees, dearie,” Callie said. “My breath would be shallow too, if a man was looking at me the way he’s looking at you, but I don’t want you passing out on me.”

  Daralyn’s gaze flicked back up to him, then back down. “How am I looking at you, Daralyn?” Rory asked. “Tell me.”

  The faint stain on her cheeks that could enthrall him showed up. “Like…like you want to swallow me whole.”

  “I think I’d rather take small bites. Make the meal last even longer.”

  That tiny smile again, which always made him feel like she was right there with him, that he wasn’t losing her down some dark hole.

  Callie tightened the corset once more, and Rory’s brow rose. Double damn. Daralyn’s figure became more defined, her breasts swelling over the lace edge, just as promised. He couldn’t take his eyes away.

  “My apologies, sir,” Callie said, her gaze on the slit in the curtain. “I have another customer. If you don’t mind, I’ll let them know I’m in a fitting and tell them how long I’ll be.”

  “Take your time,” Rory murmured. The woman shot him a playful smile as she passed him.

  The moment Callie stepped out of the curtained space, he was moving forward. Like a dancer anticipating her partner, Daralyn came to the center of the space so he could circle her, study how the corset framed her heart-shaped ass, making it even more noticeable. He brushed his knuckles over that area, and the satin of her panties creased from the reactive flex of her buttocks. Coming back to the front, he trailed fingertips over the tops of her breasts. “Makes them more sensitive, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He feathered his touch over them several more times, and her pulse rabbited in her throat. “Are you afraid of me, Daralyn?”

  Her gaze slipped to his and then away. “Yes. And no.”

  “Explain that to me.”

  She moistened her lips. “I know you’d never try to hurt me in a mean way, or scare me. But when you look at me like that…like the devouring thing, there’s this fear low in my belly. But it feels like a good fear. Like…I want to be a little afraid of you.”

  He was sure any Dom liked hearing that kind of thing. But they fed a part of him that, even with his current confidence in himself, in who he was, still had some vital empty space. A man liked knowing his desire could make a woman feel a little nervous, in the good ways they all understood without putting it into words. Daralyn had just given him that acknowledgment, and it filled that empty space right up.

  Sliding a finger under the top hook of the corset, he pulled her forward until she was bent toward him and he could put his mouth on the top of one pillowed breast. He tasted it, traced it with his tongue, curled inside the edge to her nipple and played with it against the hold of the brocade. He relished her jolt, the little mewl of need that told him that mix of frictions had sent a shot of desire right to her core.

  “I intend to keep you feeling that way,” he said. “And I’m not going to be the least bit sorry for it.”

  He guided her to straighten and then put his hands on her hips, stroking the line of the corset to her upper thighs. “You look stunning,” he told her.

  Her face lit up with pleasure, a look he liked a lot. As he heard Callie returning, he pushed himself back into his spot to give her room to return to Daralyn’s side.

  “This style has a very smooth profile,” Callie continued, as if she hadn’t left. “And this panel over the hooks keeps it from snagging delicate cloth. Would you like her to keep it on beneath her dress? She looks perfect in her dress, but this will give her shape and her movements a different look.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d like that a lot.”

  Her eyes twinkled at him and she retrieved the dress from the rack where she’d hung it. As she put it over Daralyn’s head, Rory saw she was right. The additional layer of clothing padded Daralyn’s underweight body and sculpted the upper and lower areas, making both far more noticeable.

  “Thank you,” he said. He retrieved his wallet from the side pocket of the pack fastened behind his chair and handed his card over to Callie. He hadn’t asked the price, but he’d glanced at a couple tags and knew he could cover the three figures on it.

  After it was processed and they’d bid Callie good-bye, Daralyn tucking her discarded bra into his pack, he pointed her toward another booth. “We’re not done shopping yet,” he said.

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the price tags. “Oh, that was so expensive,” Daralyn protested. “I know you’re saving up for that all-terrain chair. I don’t need…”

  When he gave her a deliberate look, she stopped mid-sentence. He decided to translate the expression straight out, see how it worked for them both. “That’s my decision, isn’t it?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes, sir.”

  “But I appreciate you being considerate of my money.” He took her hand, squeezed it. “That chair is a nice-to-have. You, in a corset? That’s a must-have.”

  She glowed at the comment, which just underlined it twice to him. He stopped before the jewelry booth. “Take a look at some of these,” he told her.

  The artisan had a wide variety of silver jewelry, with simple to more elaborate spiral designs. He was in the process of making more at a metal crafting station, allowing people to see his process. Despite his wares being delicate pieces of jewelry, he looked like a seventeenth century muscle-bound blacksmith, with a grizzled jaw and a head of bushy gray hair.

  Rory browsed the pieces on display, but he was really watching Daralyn. She went back twice to a mouse pendant, his tail curled through one link of necklace chain, his paw gripping another. He’d get that one for her, in addition to the one that had originally drawn his attention to the booth.

  It was a bracelet, intended to look like a chain, but the silver links were far more feminine than what he’d used to make her bracelet on the fly. The connecting piece was a heart whose point blossomed into a spiral that circled the heart shape, threaded through the chain links, and reconnected with the heart. When he picked it up and brought Daralyn to him with a gesture, he put it around her wrist. Since it fit just right, despite the thinness of her wrist, he figured it was meant to be.

  “I like this one,” he said. “You’re the heart, and the spirals are all the things you’re reaching for. The things that can come back to your heart, feed it. That’s what I hope you’ll keep doing.”

  She trailed her fingers over the chain links. “And these are you,” she said. “Holding my heart, giving it a place to rest.”

  She’d caught the jeweler’s attention with the quiet observation, but he discreetly returned to his craft while Rory acted casual about a comment that had punched him right in the solar plexus. “Sounds like a good combination,” he said.

  When they left the booth, he’d purchased both items. Since the rose and silver pendant she’d worn with the dress was longer than the little mouse, she put the mouse necklace on above it, the tiny creature resting in the hollow of her throat. The bracelet was on her left wrist, that hand resting on his shoulder when they were in motion, or in his clasp, when they stopped to watch the other things happening around them.

  Formal demos had given way to individual, impromptu scenes. At a gazebo, a woman on her knees serviced her bald-headed tattooed Dom, who wore biker leathers and stroked her head with gentle hands. He leaned against a column of the gazebo. Amid a grove of dwarf blooming azaleas, the blooms a delicate white-pink, another woman did rope work like Des. While she was less fluid and practiced, she was just as intently involved with her subject matter, tying three subs in an erotic pose, two men and one woman. It looked like they were locked together in the biblical sense, and fighting the desire to move, thrust, grind.

  As they circled around the pool house to the open lawn on the other side, they found a game in progress, the applause and laughter drawing him and Daralyn to the entertainment. Fun, silly stuff, subs racing one another through an obstacle course carrying a stack of three teacups.

  The subs started the race with vibrators inserted or strapped to their bodies. Remote controls were auctioned off to members of the audience so they could turn them on or off at random moments. But the challenge didn’t stop with that. There were stations along the course, like spanking benches where the sub had to stop, bend over and get spanked by the Doms waiting there, with a choice of implements at their fingertips.

  At another station, they had to kneel, service impressively sized and colorful candy phalluses. All of this while still holding the teacups. The next challenge station reversed it, the competitors becoming the recipients of the oral treatment, only this time from the mouths of other eagerly volunteering subs. Some were brought so close to climax the teacups were rattling precariously.

  Rory was as fascinated as Daralyn, watching the competitors, two women and three men. All the money for the remotes, or the betting on the race winners, would go to the charities of the audience winners’ choice.

  The finish line involved putting the teacups down on a table, pouring tea in them and serving them to a table of the Masters and Mistresses, the ones to whom the competing subs belonged.

  One of the female submissives won, a curvy thirty-something with green eyes, and highlighted brown hair. She wore a tropically patterned mint green and chocolate brown bikini, suggesting she’d taken advantage of the pool earlier in the evening. A transparent green scarf with tiny tassels and little bells was hooked jauntily around her hips.

  After she completed the task, her Mistress had her kneel next to her while she sipped the tea thoughtfully. After an approving nod, she bent to kiss her woman’s lips. Then she turned to the audience and gestured at the man who’d bid for the remote that controlled her sub’s vibrator. He was a slim but muscular male, his long dark hair braided down his back. Since he was shirtless and wearing only a pair of jeans, a tattoo was visible under the tail of hair. The Celtic heart was overlaid by a triquetra and a pair of handcuffs. Conditionally Yours was written in script beneath, though a scar made it look as if the first word had been altered.

  The Mistress met the man’s gaze. “Reward her, Noah,” she said.

  Daralyn’s hand gripped Rory’s as Noah inclined his head and pressed a button on the remote, turning up the intensity so the woman immediately swayed and began to moan, her gaze latched on her Domme.

  “That’s my sweet rabbit,” she said. “But you know you still don’t get to come without my permission, Gen.”

  “Damn,” Rory muttered, with admiration for the woman’s stroke of deviltry. The Domme glanced his way. She had long red hair and a brilliant, glass-shard type gaze that told him she could be a lot tougher than this. But there was a tenderness there, too, as she returned her attention to the struggle happening at her feet.

  When Gen was making pleading noises, her buttocks noticeably quivering even under the sheer gauze scarf, the woman nodded. “Now.”

  She let Gen rest her forehead on her latex clad thigh as her body convulsed, her hands clutching her Mistress’s legs for an anchor as she screamed at the force of the climax that went through her. The Domme leaned over her, pressed her lips to her shoulder, her hands stroking the curve of her back.

  She didn’t tell Noah to turn off the vibrator until Gen was all done and jerking from the over stimulation. But then, as Gen slowly recovered, Noah drew close to them. He knelt next to the quivering submissive, slipping an arm around her as he kissed the Domme’s thigh.

  “Lyda handles two subs better than most of us handle one.” The comment came from a man behind Rory, punctuated by an admiring chuckle and response from his male companion.

  “That’s because she’s Type A enough to need two subs. She’d be bored otherwise.”

  Definitely another couple of Doms. Rory didn’t turn to get a visual on the two men, because his attention had been pulled toward Daralyn’s reaction.

  “Oh…” She sounded breathless. “They’re all three together.” She was leaning against his chair. As he put his arm around her waist, supporting her, he stroked the line of the corset he could feel beneath her dress. He thought about how she’d look later tonight when it was just the two of them, her wearing only the form-fitting garment and her stockings. “Feeling a little weak, baby?” he asked solicitously. “Maybe you need some food. Or I could loosen a couple laces.”