Chains and Canes by Katie Porter Page A

him again.
    No way. Her opinion belonged in that room as much as his.
    “Then treat seeing those bruises like a chastity belt. You gotta convince me to unlock it.”
    After a tight swallow, he said, “You’ll let me see all of it.”
    “ If you convince me. But not here.” She cast a glace toward the small camera eye in the corner of the room. “Showing you would mean showing Declan.”
    Remy’s sly good humor shone through. “You know about that, eh?”
    The heat from his body and the sheen of sweat on his skin was distracting. Want want want. But she wasn’t arguing for the sake of art alone. He’d left the penthouse only a few minutes after he’d come. Naya already had a partner, and Daniel had her. They weren’t chasing a man who didn’t want to chase in return.
    That conversation had lasted nearly to dawn.
    “Declan and Daniel have been friends for more than a decade. So yes, I know. Besides, there’s no way you can seduce me so well that I’ll reveal my bruises to my new boss. Not here.”
    “Where, then? Because first we’ll work all afternoon fucking up my choreo—”
    “Fucking it up? Get off it, pendejo .”
    “Fine. We’ll…find what’s missing from my choreo,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Then we dance and you get wet between the legs. Where will we be when you show me?”
    Naya forced easy breaths. Forced them. “The guest suite at the top of the building in Midtown where Daniel’s company is headquartered. In three days.”
    “Three—?”
    “When Daniel gets back from London. That’s a hard-and-fast rule that shouldn’t surprise you. In the meantime, a little taste…” She turned and lifted the hem of her T-shirt. In the opposite mirror, she saw what she revealed: a particularly fierce weal. It must’ve been from one of the last smacks. He’d been in command all night—until that countdown. A Dom in complete control wouldn’t have risked so much.
    At the time, she’d only relished the glorious pain of total release. But earlier that morning, before arriving at the club, she’d smiled to herself. She’d gotten under his skin again, slipped behind his defenses.
    How often did Remy Lomand lose it?
    The result was gorgeous. He could’ve laid the belt—the belt he wore—right over the red stripe. It was that clearly defined.
    “Holy fuck, Naya.”
    “You can touch. Sir.”
    “Clever, sneaky little bitch,” he said with a smile. Not a grin. A full smile that lit his graceful features with a golden glow.
    He didn’t take any more than she offered. Beginning with the tip of the stripe where it graced the innermost span of her ribs, he traced to where the mark disappeared beneath her teasing, lifted hem.
    “So seduce me. Right here. Seduce me for three days . Don’t you wonder how good it could be, with anticipation that fierce?”
    Remy made a noise in his throat that was a half-choked growl.
    She dropped the shirt back into place. “I know you have more in you than tough-guy dancing and plain ol’ fucking.”
    “I happen to beat a gal pretty well too.”
    “And why is that?” The question was quick, as if her tongue had been programmed to ask it right then, whether she’d wanted to or not. Why not the night before, when he’d stood over her with a curled belt in his fist? Why ask at all? She never probed why professional Dominas liked getting paid to make clients scream.
    “It was fun to learn some girls like it.” Remy caught her chin, pinching harder than was necessary to hold her gaze. Not that she was retreating. She only mourned that his surprising golden smile was long gone, replaced by a darkness she couldn’t understand. “And I liked it a damn sight better than being on the receiving end.”
    His words shot electricity down the backs of her thighs. It could mean anything. She ought to ignore it altogether, because the scary alternative was to learn more about him. Patrick’s lesson had been a hard one to learn. Some men didn’t open up.