Pound of Flesh by Lolita Lopez Page A

lunch, so be it.
    While he’d been away, Max had kept in touch
via quick emails and a short phone call whenever possible. He’d
purposely not asked about Violet’s adherence to the rules. There
were Doms who would, of course, but Max wasn’t one of them. He’d
suspected—hoped, really—she’d broken some of the rules but didn’t
want confirmation. It was so much more fun to come home to the
unknown. Anticipation and uncertainty increased the excitement of
their games.
    When he’d walked in the door, Max had been
met not by Violet’s smiling face as he’d expected, but the sight of
her keys, phone and purse haphazardly discarded on the entryway
console table. Upon further inspection of the house, he discovered
dirty dishes piled in the sink, chip and cookie crumbs littering
the couches and carpet, and half-full glasses of her favorite soda,
now flat, perched on end tables and bookcases. He found one of the
thrillers he’d ordered but not yet read open on the couch, the
spine cracked, pages dog-eared and smears of chocolate decorating
the margins. Those stacks of shiny discs on the DVD player, their
cases strewn carelessly about, were the last straw.
    He marched upstairs in search of Violet and
found her in their master bedroom enjoying a cup of hot tea while
she waited for her newly painted toenails to dry. He was knocked
breathless at the sight of her nubile body adorned in a sheer
salmon pink g-string and matching babydoll trimmed with white
lace.
    For a moment, his frustration vanished. Lust
took hold. All those lonely, long nights spent wanting her, needing
her, were suddenly just a memory. There she was, the very vixen
who’d haunted his dreams, just waiting to be taken. In a minute or
less, Max could have had her on her back, his stiff cock sunk deep
into her hot, wet sheath.
    The lusty vision quickly disappeared as his
gaze fell on a pile of unfolded and wrinkled laundry. The bleached
spots on his favorite jeans had him gritting his teeth. Violet
offered him a smug little smile, her bright eyes daring him to lose
his cool. Another one of her games, it seemed. She wanted a rise
out of him, a rise he was more than willing to provide.
    Oh, yes. She was going to get what she
wanted. Whether she would like what she was about to get remained
to be seen.
    With a single snap of his fingers and a quiet
command, Violet was on the floor in the submissive position he
liked best. Knees wide, palms up, her chin at just the right angle.
With her eyes downcast, she embodied the role of supplicant so
perfectly. Her full breasts heaved with every excited breath. A
blush of arousal colored her skin.
    He walked a slow circle around her, studying,
scrutinizing. He ached to touch her, to sweep his rough palm over
her supple skin. She would melt into him and beg him for a kiss, a
spanking, a stern word, anything.
    But he couldn’t relent. Not so quickly.
Violet had deliberately broken his rules. She had to be punished.
She wanted to be
punished.
    He wouldn’t disappoint.
    Max took a fistful of hair and yanked her
head back hard but not enough to injure. That was the delicate line
a dominant walked. There had to be pain, a little bruising perhaps,
but never real injury. At least not in their relationship. For
others, the boundaries weren’t so black and white. For Max and
Violet, the hard lines were never crossed.
    Violet’s eyes flashed with excitement. She’d
always had a rather perverse fondness for his rough treatment. A
quiver of heat penetrated his belly. Lascivious thoughts filled his
head. The options were limitless.
    “I want you downstairs, naked and kneeling
next to the spanking horse.” He delivered the order decisively.
    Her breathless reply followed swiftly. “Yes,
sir.”
    There was the slightest tremble in her voice,
her body vibrating with the thrill of the unknown. She rose quickly
and dashed out of the room. At the doorway, she dared one fleeting
glance over her shoulder. There was no mistaking the